


The Soldier and The Queen

by Churbooseanon



Series: Starlight Challenges [15]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Gen, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4168899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young queen of a country at war finds herself faced with a strange dilemma in the form of a soldier come to ask her a question. A question whose answer could change everything and nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soldier and The Queen

**Author's Note:**

> For Starlight Challenge Prompt 6/1/2015: Crying isn’t a sign of weakness. Since birth, it’s been a sign that you’re alive.
> 
> Based on the song The Queen and The Soldier by Suzanne Vega

A gentle knock upon the door drew Carolina’s gaze from the book in her lap. With a sigh she rose, setting the book aside with a ribbon to hold her place. Two deep breaths as she smoothed the folds of her gown over herself before she nodded, assuring herself that she truly was prepared before she called out. 

“Enter,” she commanded, knowing the voice to be that of the head of her guard, and sure enough the door opened just enough for the man known as Florida to enter her chambers. She stood by impassively as the blue clad man pressed a clenched fist to his breast in a sign of fealty as he bowed before her. 

She waited a moment before clearing her throat, her way of indicating she recognized his gesture, and the man could lift his gaze once more. Immediately she was staring into his deep, warm brown eyes and she wanted to frown briefly at the complexity of the braid he wore, one which echoed the pattern her own hair was woven into. But no, it was one of the small gestures Florida was prone to in his displays of loyalty to his sovereign and charge, and she would not take something such as this from so fiercely loyal a man. 

“Need I ask why you have come?” Carolina asked when Florida straightened, and the little smile on his lips, barely visible, assured her it was important. 

“There is a man who seeks an audience with you, Your Highness. He awaits you in the lower throne room. Shall I have Wyoming see him off?”

A man seeking an unscheduled audience? No, this intrigued her, for it was not as if Florida came to her with such a frivolous request. Two things she found herself certain of: this man was no threat to her or Florida would have ordered him dispatched with nary a moment of hesitation, and there was something about his presence that made Florida curious enough to bring the request to the queen directly rather than to a scheduler. Things that made him curious, the man who had been at her side since she was a child and who had as often been a confidante as a protector, drove her to curiosity as well. So it was that she shook her head, and tried not to smile at the brief look of pleasure on her friend’s face. 

“No. I shall see this stranger of yours,” she decided as she moved to find the pair of slippers she had discarded a while before when she had decided she needed a good book for a little bit to break up the monotony of reports. Slippers were always on for business, even though the long train of her dress often hid her feet. 

And of course the second she made the move toward the teal and gold things, Florida was moving to intercept her. The guard captain kneeled and selected one to hold out for her. Ah, the brief moments of chivalry he offered her. Carolina chuckled softly and shook her head, allowing him to assist with donning first one slipper and then the other, holding her skirts up just enough to keep them out of the way. Even with him propriety was important, and even if he would never reveal her secrets she would not risk too much out of the way of what was expected of her. 

A moment she took to check her hair in a mirror before she allowed Florida to move to the door and open it for her. Once she was out of the room she swept down the hall with every ounce of poise and composure she always mustered outside of the safe privacy of her chambers, certain that Florida ghosted along beside her and back half a pace as he ever did. Of course she had nothing but experience to support her certainty, and she was long since the child who could be seen looking back over her shoulder to seek him out. There was some skill to her guard, and she understood that in the silence of his footsteps and the lack of ringing from his armor or even the blades at his side. It bespoke a talented guardian and killer, she supposed, which never failed to make her feel safe. Yet walking toward the unknown still had her heart pounding more than a touch faster than it normally should have. 

Soon enough, or perhaps far too soon, she had strode through the cold stone corridors of her palace and found herself beside the richly carved door that was her private entrance to the lower throne room, which would lead her through a curtained hall and around to behind her throne. The throne left to her by her parents. Once, when she was a girl, she used to sneak away when she was meant to be attentive to court being held before her mother to play in this little hall. She would duck behind the rich curtains and into the dim lights of the hall, Florida behind her, a silent ghost as ever, and she would play that she was an adventurer or a wizard or a soldier. Often her mother would chide her after, and as she would her father would laugh and pick her up. 

‘She shall only be a child but once, Allison. Let her enjoy such things before they fade. Childhood is such a fleeting thing for a royal,’ her father would say before he kissed her brow and put her back down on the floor. He’d tease the crimson strands of her hair back over her ear and resettle the tiny circlet of silver that rested ever on her brow to mark her as her mother’s heir, and his smile was warm and sweet. 

And in the end, mother would laugh lightly and agree childhood was too short. Before Carolina knew it her parents would have an ‘adventurer’s picnic’ sent up to their rooms and together they would all dress in their simplest clothes and ‘explore’ the back corridors and servants’ passages and dignitary’s rooms in the palace until Carolina was tired enough to sit down with their light meal. When that was done her mother would smile and kiss her brow and leave her father to see Carolina to her tutors as she returned to the duties that now rested upon Carolina’s shoulders. 

Carolina’s hand came up to support herself against the stone of the wall as she breathed deeply and tried not to think too hard. Remember too much. There was presentation that had to be in place, and remembering that the loss is no longer important. This is her place, her domain, and no one might deign to make her feel anything but in control within it. She is a queen, a force that is not reckoned with, but asked of and looked to as a beacon of power and stability. Composed once more she pushed the curtain aside and strode confidently into the throne room, her head high and her manner composed. Her fingers didn’t even brush the oaken lesser throne as she passed it, as much as she craved to. It was too much like the behavior she remembered of her father after… 

Well, just after. 

What she found when she circled the throne surprised her, and she slowly seated herself upon the crimson and navy pillow upon the hard wooden surface to buy herself time to consider. Before her, kneeling with a fist to his chest as Florida had done earlier was a man clad in the quartered crimson and navy uniform of the unified kingdom her parents had left her, the hints of armor under it flecked with color she was certain was not tarnish but blood. One of the soldiers of her armies here, before her, and intriguing to Florida himself. Interesting. She could understand his curiosity now, for were he a messenger from one of her lords or generals, his clothing would be lighter, and she would have been warned. In fact, a messenger with any urgent news would have delivered it to her in her sitting room, which Florida had retrieved her from. Which made this a different manner entirely. 

“You may rise,” she declared after a moment, and was only more shocked to see the man only raise his face to her. 

And what a face it was. In a way it was familiar. The features were strong, somewhat rugged. It reminded her of the regions of her lands that her father had brought into the marriage to her mother, with the square of his face and yet the roundness of his jaw. His coloration was right as well, his hair dark, his eyes a lighter shade of gray, and his skin kissed by the sun as one would expect of a laborer or a soldier, but not so pale as the people of her mother’s hereditary lands were. Yet it was not in any of those features that he was familiar. No, it was the scarring of the left side of his face, and the milky blankness of said eye. Quickly the answer came to her, though not a name. Instead she remembered a report she had read a few months back about a new healing technique her people had come upon, which had saved the life of a man who was cut across the face, his eye ruined. A snowy white stone, carved and polished into a simple ball now filled the empty socket, to make his visage a little less terrifying as her healers used him as an example of new techniques. 

She had not known he had been returned to active military service, but she supposed it made sense. The war had not let up for the new healing techniques, and any experienced blade in her service was one that was accepted. Still, it hurt to see a man who had already given so much to her service expected to return to it once more. In that moment Carolina decided that if he was here to ask for his release from the armies, she would allow him it. 

“Your Highness,” he spoke, his voice a smooth, low thing that had a strange drawl to it that again reminded her of her father. Carolina had to fight to keep her hand from clutching at the arm of the throne at such a memory. Much of where she was now was due to the late King failing to properly honor his wife. Her mother. Their poisoned and lost queen. The battles Carolina now fought was for the safety of her domain and her own life, fought against the men who had stolen both of her parents from her in the simple act of poisoning one. 

“My name is Marcus York,” he continued, unaware of the turmoil in her breast. “I am as I stand before you now, so to speak, another blade amongst the wealth of your armies. And I have come to seek word from you, if you would allow me to ask such a boon.”

Well, at least he had manners. Carolina nodded briefly, gesturing for him to continue. It was only then that the man stood, and she saw the difficulty of it. A nearly crippled leg if she was any judge of how he held himself, clearly favoring his left leg over his right. Yet there was still a grace about him that she could respect. Did respect. His face didn’t even flinch in the pain that she surmised must be there, and she would have lauded him for it if there was a way. 

“Speak, and if it is within my power to grant, I shall consider your request.”

“Your Highness,” he acknowledged, bowing his head briefly once more. “Long have I and my family served yours. Not a generation of the York men have passed without service either in your military or in some other fashion, but I fear I shall be the last.”

No brothers then, she assumed. He came to her after his injury and service to ask for his release so that he might live a different life. Yes, that she could accept. 

“You see, tomorrow I am abandoning my vows of service to your family and to you,” he continued on, and Carolina felt herself go rigid in her throne. How brazen a man could he be to claim such a thing? “I’m leaving the army tomorrow, and you do with that what you will, my Queen, but first I ask, no, I demand to know why.”

“You should know your own reasons for…” Florida started to say, advancing, and Carolina could see her guard drawing his blade. Understandable given the penalty for desertion was death, and this man was arrogant enough to speak his intentions before the queen herself. Such an insult to her person could not be taken lightly. Yet Carolina felt herself reaching out, her hands coming to rest on Florida’s arm before he could move further forward. His own anger no doubt matched her own, but a queen was not to act rashly. 

“Is why not a question you should ask of yourself, Marcus York?” she asked, pitching her voice toward the distant tone she used with her load of old, set in their ways advisors dared speak to her like she was a little girl. “You are the one abandoning your oaths.”

“No, Your Highness,” York countered, not looking a bit phased by her words, or by the dangerous man at Carolina’s side. “You are the one who have abandoned your oaths to your people. But that is not what I’m here to debate. What I desire is to understand the why of a fifteen year war that I have bled for countless times, and which seems futile at best.”

Carolina froze at that question, trying to wrap her mind around it. How had she failed her people? How dare he insinuate such a thing? No, she would not allow her anger to get the better of her. Instead she rose, a slow process that she had practiced many times before, and she knew it was a very elegant, regal motion. In fact, the way his good eye followed her only assured her of the efficacy of her motion to capture his attention. Good. Let him remember how high she stood above him, how he served her. 

Standing she let her hand fall from Florida’s arm. “I will not have a conversation such as this seems to promise to be in this room. Florida, you have one of the servants see to this man. He will be fed and given a chance to rest. He appears weary. After he will be brought to my chambers to speak.”

“I’m not hungry,” the man immediately spoke, and Carolina tried and managed not to grimace at the interruption. Fine, if he was that eager to condemn himself with his own words, then who was she to deny him such? 

“As you wish. Have one of your guards search him for weapons, and then bring him to me.”

She would not accept another moment of his gaze without some distance to breathe again, and so Carolina turned, gathering her skirts just enough to allow her to move with a bit more speed, and strode off behind the throne, through the curtain, and back into the cooler, darker corridors of her castle. Within seconds Florida had caught back up to her, and as she stopped she felt the guard’s hand upon her elbow, a silent offer for support. 

“I am fine,” she assured him with a calm she could not feel within herself, and her voice did not betray her. “Of that much be assured, Florida. I will not be ruffled by a man such as that. I am better than that.”

“I do not doubt it, Your Highness,” Florida answered, his voice the unreadably calm thing she was used to when he was trying to control his anger. Clearly his curiosity was lost to the impertinence of the man’s statement, and Carolina could not blame him. But to not hear the man now that she had allowed him into her presence was a greater mistake than allowing it in the first place. 

It took but her gaze moving to his hand on her elbow for him to release her, and freed, Carolina strode off, heading for her rooms. Of course she arrived there long before the soldier, and though he protested, the queen left her guard at the door, retreating into the silence and safety of her rooms on her own. For a while she moved slowly around it, trying to figure out how she would present herself. At last she seated herself on a cushioned bench placed between the old crimson and navy banners of her domain. Her fingers came up to brush along the edge of the red, an old habit of her childhood. She used to tell her parents that she liked the red better for it was the same color as her hair, for it was the realm of her mother and her mother’s people, Queen Allison of the Unified Kingdoms of Gulch. Always her parents had humored her, but this banner… 

She remembered one so like it draped over her mother’s form while she wept, her face buried in her father’s robes of state. Shortly after all the red had been stripped from the castle, secreted away in store rooms and closets in her father’s efforts to escape the constant reminder of his grief and the burdens that had been thrust upon him in the absence of his beloved wife. For a time Carolina had considered going to the chef down in the kitchens to ask for a way to blacken her hair as her father’s, pained by the way his father seemed ready to cry whenever he looked upon her. The red, she had thought, was the problem. Red was her mother’s color, even if she had preferred a deeper shade than the crimson of her kingdom. Then she had not understood that it was her face, so like her mother’s, that prompted his pain. Now she wore the memory of her lost parents with a confidence she had never felt, and a lesson held close to her heart. 

Never let your people see you cry, she had learned in watching her father. Your pain only betrays weakness to your people. The near uprising of the nobles had nearly done her father in, with his already broken heart, and Carolina had seen him worn away year after year. Only thirteen had she been when she had ascended to her throne to be the strength her father never could be, and that was nearly ten years past. One of her first orders had included restoring the crimson to the palace, to the flag, and indeed, even to the uniforms such as that worn by the man that she remembered when another light knock came to her door. 

The knock, of course, was a courtesy, for Florida knew to send the man directly in, but it gave Carolina time to rise and compose herself back into a mask of impassiveness before the door opened. This time York bothered not to salute her or bow. He just walked into the room, his eye casting about to take stock, and his lack of deference only rekindled the anger in her breast. At last his eyes alighted upon her head, on the crown of gold and sapphires and ruby that marked her position and it seemed as that alone reminded him of where he was. Only then did he bow his head, and even that only briefly. 

“Please, sit,” she instructed, forcing courtesy into her voice. And thankfully, the man seemed to understand it was no true request, and he lowered himself into a less than comfortable wooden chair she had left near the door. Normally she reserved the thing for those she was displeased with when they met with her, typically some advisor or other who had recently slighted her. Often she would invite them to a light lunch with her that could drag on for in excess of an hour, and they would be forced to sit in the uncomfortable chair, and know that by propriety they could not complain. It always pleased her to show her displeasure in such a way, but the man hardly seemed bothered by the position. The nerve of him!

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence as Carolina seated herself once more, and she bristled at his presumption to speak to her before directed. But he continued anyway, and the queen thought perhaps she might not have a good means by which to control the man, now that she had left her guard out of the situation. Of course she need but raise her voice and Florida would be in the room within a second, so no bother in the end. 

“You know,” he said, and Carolina listened, “I expected you to be older somehow. I mean, I am well aware of your age, Your Highness, but I did not think you would look so young.”

“I hardly see the relevance of your observation to the conversation we are resuming,” she answered, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice. 

“Yeah, well it is,” the soldier insisted, his voice sounding more natural without him trying to talk above himself. Carolina appreciates it, because it serves as a reminder that she is above him, and he is hardly worthy of being in her presence. “Because I’ve been in this army of yours for a decade now. Ten years fighting your battles for you, bleeding for you, dying for you piece by piece. I’ve been in everything from skirmish to full-fledged battle, and I’ll tell you that I’ve barely survived more than my fair share.”

With that his hand raised to gesture to his face. “I’ve given my eye for you, lost a damn good part of the power of my leg, and still I’m expected to fight. Just another life to throw away in a war that we’re losing. Do you get that, Your Highness? Maybe you don’t see it because up here all you get is troop reports and comments about how we’re winning on the large scale. But every cut, every blow they deal us kills us slowly. Sure we’re winning the war, but I can personally say I’ve seen more individual battles lost than I have won. Morale is at the lowest I’ve ever known, and no one seems to know why we’re fighting anymore. I’ve seen boys die in your name, and for what?”

The strength of his voice almost made the question a demand of her. Called to mind his question from earlier. ‘Why’ he had asked, and she still didn’t know what he meant. But to be questioned in such a way was frustrating. Her reports all contradicted what he claimed, and surely her generals knew better than some to-be-deserter. 

“Are the lives of the common folk such poor coin, to buy you so little, to be cast aside like this?” York demanded, his voice raising as he stood once more. “What is this war even for? Is it just a game for you? Tell me, why are we still fighting? What for?”

The rage boiled up within her at those words, and despite her best efforts to control herself Carolina rose, giving him the coolest, dismissive look in her arsenal. Who was he to question her? Who was he to stand before her without her leave? 

“What for? What does it matter to you, a simple blade?” she countered, voice level, and she knew it was a touch superior. She could hear it in her own tone, but she cared not, dared not care. “You are a soldier, not my generals, not my Lords. Understanding is beyond your reach, now and ever.”

How could he, a man with a simple life since his birth, ever understand the pain she lived? Ever since her birth expectations heaped upon her. No real time to be a child in the way that common people were. Since she could talk and read she was heaped with lessons on history and culture. She could sit a horse and command servants before she could figure beyond the basics. Expected to learn how to manage her household as well as her kingdom. Not just one, but two different kingdoms merged into one, with different expectations and needs and nobility who hated each other from an ages old rivalry. And then, but a girl, her mother ripped from her, and her father wasting away in his grief. A girl forced to be a woman before her first blood, and he dared to assume he could understand the weight of her decisions, the burden of running a kingdom and ruling over the lives of so many? 

Oh yes, the common folk knew of the death of her mother as a poisoning, and they had heard during her father’s rule that it had been by the kingdom they now warred with. But did they know of the attempts on her own life? The fact that Florida barely let her go a fifty paces away from him unless she was here in the sanctity of her chambers? Even soldiers knew where they could expect their end from. Their enemy was plain before them, and hers were hidden behind smiles and polite conversation as there were no few of her Lords that she was certain would attempt to depose her if they could manage it. He knew not of the calls that she wed, to bring a more reasonable man to control her willfulness, as if such a thing would happen. Worse were the calls that she marry the younger of the two Princes of Zanzibar, the nation which had killed her parents. To manage peace. To unite their families by blood and draw peace through proximity. 

To submit to the people who killed her mother and ruined her father and forced her into this position in the first place. How could he ever understand? How could she ever explain to anyone but Florida, and perhaps her confessor, a young priest of green eyes and infinite, logic based patience. No, it was beyond him to understand the burdens placed upon nobility, and the responsibility she had to keep her people safe from the treachery of the Zanzibarians. Gulch was her responsibility and she would not fail the memory of either of her parents. 

Fury and indignation and remembered sorrow all mixed in the depths of her gut until she could feel the sting of tears threatening. Rather than shake and turn away and submit to her pain and emotion, Carolina took a long, deep, calming breath. Forced her composed mask back into place and frowned at the man. 

“You know not the weight of the crown. Do not presume to try. This war pains me as it pains you. These are my people out there fighting. I can give them no safety but what we can win with their blades. But I will give them that. And each cut dealt to my armies bleeds me in a way you cannot comprehend. War is a terrible thing, and it sickens me that we must face it, but we must…”

In the course of her speech she found herself turning away from the man, a mistake apparently. How was she to know the man to be so fast despite his pains? But there he was when she turned, his hand on her shoulder. It was larger than Florida’s and stronger. Worse, it was turned on her in anger, or ill intent, because it squeezed her shoulder painfully as he pressed down. Despite the fact that she possessed a few inches on him, she found the weight of his downward thrust irresistible, and she stumbled forward a step before falling to her knees. Her hands came down to catch her, even as he held her there, refusing to let her up. All she had to do was raise her voice and he would be dead, but the thought was ripped from her as he spoke again, anger clear in his voice. 

“Someone should have taught you humility,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “You think you carry our wounds? You think you know pain? Hardly. Everyone knows you lock yourself here into your safety, Your Highness. Not once have you ridden among your people since the King’s death. You don’t know the pain we feel. You know know the suffering you inflict upon us. You distance yourself from the people you’re supposed to serve. And look at you now…”

His hand moved down to clench her arm and with a jerk Carolina found herself on her feet, held close to him as his gray and white eyes stared into hers with a fire in them that she didn’t know how to face. How to answer. She was left speechless by the intensity of it as he continued on, unaware of how he affected her, or perhaps not caring. 

“Your mother? The old Queen? She was good. She knew what her duty was, and she loved her people, and she was so very strong. But you? You’re weak and afraid, locked up here in your precious little castle on a hill. For her I would have died without asking, because I would have known it wasn’t something a petty as revenge that drove her. There would be a reason. But you…?”

The soldier jerked her forward, his hand standing out dark against the satiny shine of the teal of her sleeve. The grip hurt as he pulled her to the window and she could not look at his face, only at the white-knuckle grip he had on her. Even as he reached out and flung the shutters of her window open she could think only of the pain until he released her and pointed through the portal toward the view. 

“Look at that. Your lands, here for you to look upon, yet when was the last time you opened the window to look? Do you even care what happens out there? Are you even capable? We are people, my Queen. We fight for you. We die for you. No. They do. I will not step foot again into your frivolous war. I will not make friends with men and boys I know will die fruitlessly in your name. Do you get that? Can you even tell me, looking out this window, why you’re fighting?”

Silently Carolina peered through the window. On the distant horizon she could see the rich gray of gathering rain, soon to pelt down upon her domain. Above that, as if indifferent to the weather to be, rested the golden disk of the sun. Ever it would shine on, she knew, through day after day, and stand far above the weather, resting only to give the world the darkness it needed to recover. In a way it reminded her of herself, standing high above her people, but the sun was indifferent to all below, did that mean she too… 

She turned her attention from that train of thought and considered instead the sun itself. The feel of it on her face was warm. A kind of warmth that she had not felt in a while. Tomorrow she should ride out, just to feel it on herself for longer. But no, there was meeting upon meeting to be had, and time would not wait for her. How, she wondered in the moment, had her mother ever made time for herself and father, for the simple and varied pleasures of her life? For the pleasures of living itself? 

Did it matter? Her mother had never been at war. She would forgive Carolina for sacrificing frivolity for the sake of the people. Such was her duty, was it not? What was the point of riding to visit her Lords in their manors when she had a war to win for the sake of her people? And yet she longed, for far more time than was right, for that simple pleasure of sun on skin and a good horse under her, cavorting with joy at the freedom to stretch its legs. 

It was something she could not allow herself. There were many things that fell into that category these days, and at last she turned away from the sight. 

York must have taken that as a cue to speak once more, for even as she turned away his voice issued forth once more. This time it was slower, softer, and held a depth of sadness to it that Carolina felt calling to her own pain, hidden deep down within herself. 

“Tomorrow I will leave your employ, and perhaps even your realm,” he said, his voice a resigned sigh. “I go to seek all the things I have been denied in the course of your pointless squabbling. In your little toy war. I want to live my life plying a trade that doesn’t leave people dead behind me. I want to give back to people rather than take from them. I yearn to be an honest man. I want to earn my coin through the effort of my work, and it’s skill, not by this reaping you’ve turned me to. I want to get only what I deserve and give only what I’m capable of. And maybe just a touch more to help my kith and kin.”

As she moved away from him, Carolina’s eyes were drawn to a flash of gold and crimson on the floor. Strange how she hadn’t noticed the fall of her crown before. Before this she had always thought it was a weight she could never be anything but aware of. Not bearing it was stranger than the pressure of it at this point, and yet until this moment she hadn’t noticed it fallen. It had been forged from pieces of two crowns, a uniting of the hereditary single ruby of her mother’s crown, and the paired sapphires of her father’s. After his death she had the two placed into a single crown for herself, to represent the truly unified kingdom, to allow her to bear both weights at once. 

And somehow, she had failed to notice it’s lack. 

“More than anything,” he continued, unable to notice how close she was to tears with the sight, “I long to know love. To find a woman that can love me despite my faults, a woman I will never understand but always honor and cherish. Every man should have a chance at that. Every woman should as well. But instead I’ve given my life for you, and perhaps lost what chance I can. Yet here I am, trying to figure out why. Trying to get you to see what you’re doing to this kingdom. Your Highness, I beg you, reconsider what you’re doing. Because to me, it all seems pointless and strange.”

“Yes,” she agreed quietly, stooping to recover her crown. It felt like an anchor in her hands, not grounding her to her duty as usual, but wrapping around her body with thick chains and threatening to drag her into the depths, choking as water forced its way in through her mouth and her nose and clinging to her inside and out until she was no more. 

Water which now started to fall from her eyes as she redonned the weight, reshouldered the burden. Subtly she swiped her sleeves across the corners of her eyes to dry her tears before she turned back to him, her face as blank as she could manage once more. 

“Please, I need a moment to think,” she told the soldier, gesturing to the door. “I ask that you avail yourself of my hospitality in the mean time. I shall join you shortly to continue our conversation.”

That seemed to appease the man. He smiled at her, relief on his face, and for a moment she saw him for what he must have been before the war had taken so much from him. He would have been handsome. He was strong. Perhaps, given the chance, he could do wonderful things with his life. 

Carolina led him to the door and when it opened Florida looked at her in question. 

“Ah, Florida. Marcus here has agreed to a bit to eat. Would you take him to Reginald down in the kitchens and see to it that his needs are provided for.”

Were it not that she knew him so well, she would have missed the flicker of concern and acceptance in Florida’s eyes. But there was none she knew so well as her guard captain, and thus she knew he would understand her intent. 

At least, she mused as she shut the door behind Florida and the soldier, the man would be given a meal fit for a king before being allotted the reward due deserters. 

Yet nothing, she thought as she shook off her slippers and curled up on a couch in the corner, would take the ache from her chest. Could it be that he was right? Was she motivated by only by the same grief that had ruined her father? Even with such thrust into her vision, was what she saw now in her behavior truly what the man claimed? 

If only, she thought, he hadn’t told her what his intentions were. Perhaps it might have been nice to speak to him when their tempers were not up. But she could not suffer one avowed deserter to live and create hundreds more. She owed his words thought though, and settled in to do them justice. Mayhaps he may fall, but his could continue on, perhaps saving more. 

Truly, she needed time to think.

For a night and a day she stayed locked up in her room in contemplation. And when she came out a change was wrought upon her, and soon it would be reflected in her kingdom as well. In the days and weeks to come she would wish that he might have been less a fool, that he could see the strength of his convictions made into change. 

Never would she know that he would watch from a distance in a small village on the border, proud of his queen, and thankful for the mercy of a guard who had never known how to say the same things to the power he was meant to protect.


End file.
